


221C Baker Street

by agingerwithawatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pre-Season/Series 03, Sorry Mary, honestly idk what this is, season 3 did not happen and I refuse to acknowledge it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agingerwithawatson/pseuds/agingerwithawatson
Summary: Mrs. Hudson's estranged granddaughter moves in and shakes things up.
Relationships: John Watson/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly idek where this is going or how it's going but it's going and that's all that really matters in this hell year of 2020.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Someone was pounding at the door to 221B Baker Street. It was ghastly late, but John and Sherlock were still awake, as they were wont to be with their horrible sleep schedules. 

The same, unfortunately, couldn’t be said for poor Mrs. Hudson, who, judging by the abrupt end to the noise and the quiet mumbles downstairs, had answered the door.

“Should probably see if she needs any help,” John said tiredly, placing his mug of tea down on the table and standing slowly, groaning under his breath.

“Boring. You do it if you like,” Sherlock said from his spot on the couch where he was laid out, his fingers steepled, staring up at the ceiling. They’d just finished a case that week and hardly anything new had come their way, so it must have been truly boring if Sherlock wouldn’t even bother to get up to see who was bothering their home at 1am.

John sighed and trudged over to the front door, walking out and peering down the steps.

“Everything all right Mrs Hudson--Oh.” His words fell off as he caught sight of the young woman standing next to her.

“Oh! John if you’re up, might as well come meet my granddaughter, Theodora.”

He descended the stairs. The girl was staring curiously at him, silently, her green eyes seemingly reading his every thought.

“Hang it--Sherlock! Come downstairs!” John yelled as he reached the bottom.

Mrs. Hudson sighed. “Oh, John, you know he won’t. Theodora, this is John Watson. He’s a lovely doctor who lives upstairs in 221B with Sherlock Holmes.”

“NO!” came Sherlock’s reply.

Before either Mrs. Hudson or John could retort, Theo opened her mouth and yelled:

“Come meet your new housemate or I’ll not stop practising my tap dancing and singing showtunes at 4am, EVER!”

John blinked, trying to stifle a laugh. “Sorry, where did you say you were from?”

She grinned. “Can’t put anything past you, can I? I’m from Canada.”

They heard thumping down the stairs and finally Sherlock appeared. He surveyed Theo from halfway up the stairs; she smiled at him.

“So, Theodora, was it the affair or the stripping that your mother kicked you out for?”

Mrs. Hudson clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Sherlock!” John said sharply.

Theo was staring back at Sherlock, an unreadable expression on her face, and then she let out a bark of a laugh.

“Well, that saves me the trouble. And it was the affair--I’m a burlesque dancer, not a stripper. And I’d prefer if you all called me Theo,” she shot a soft smile at John, “it’s a bit less archaic sounding.”

Sherlock scoffed. 

“Not that you’re not used to archaic and pompous-sounding names in this house, I guess.”

“Theodora, love, what happened?” Mrs. Hudson asked desperately. 

“Well, mum found out that one of her boyfriends had taken a liking to me--you know how understanding she is. Anyway, I remembered that you mentioned you ran a boarding house in London so… here I am!” She held out her arms.

There was a terse silence; Sherlock stared at her, an odd expression on his face.

“When you say ‘taken a liking to’ you--” he stopped as Theo shot a furious glance up at him, and John was momentarily taken aback at his sudden desire to obey social norms for this woman. “No, never mind. Right, well if you’re all done wasting my time, I’m returning upstairs. Theodora,” he nodded at her.

“Sherlock,” she replied stiffly. Once he was gone, she exhaled. “Does he  _ always _ do that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” John said absently, turning back from watching Sherlock leave.

“Dear, you can have 221C--I trust you’ve still got that, erm,  _ account _ ,” she said quietly. 

“Yeah, yeah, mom and I are still rolling in it,” she said dismissively, leaning down and picking up her large duffle bag. “My mom invented a diet--it’s amazing how much money you can make off people hating their bodies--oh,” she staggered as she finished talking, and John reached forward and caught her by the arm easily.

“Alright?”

“It’s just my head. Mom… things were thrown. If I hadn’t made it to the jet in time…” she trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“Hang on, are you  _ bleeding _ ?” John asked incredulously, now close enough to see the small trickle of blood going down the side of her neck. 

Mrs. Hudson exclaimed loudly again as Theo winced and shrugged. “I might be? I haven’t checked in a bit. I was before, definitely.”

Gingerly, John turned her and moved the sticky mass of hair at the back of her head. He let out a low whistle.

“Jesus, you should’ve gone to get this patched up before you got on a plane! I can probably patch you up here, though, it doesn’t look that deep and the bleeding has already slowed down, I think.”

She looked uneasy. “Patch me up?”

A few minutes later, she was sitting awkwardly on the couch while John was bustling around in the kitchen, gathering things from his medical kit.

Sherlock, highly affronted at being kicked off the couch, was sitting in John’s squishy armchair, studying Theo.

“Why didn’t you tell your mother the truth?” he asked in a low, rich baritone.

She gave him a withering look, and Sherlock  _ almost _ felt a bit embarrassed, if he had the capacity to be so.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said monotonously. 

“All right! Just need to clean that wound and wrap it up and you’ll be good as new,” John said cheerily, clearly unaware of what ungodly hour it was. Sherlock continued to gaze at Theo, but then rolled his eyes and stood up.

“John, I’m going to borrow your laptop, I’ll be in my room.” He stalked off.

John sat down next to Theo and laid his kit on the table in front of him. He had turned the lights in the living room on and was wrestling some gloves onto his hands.

“Right, so, turn again please, I don’t think I need to cut the hair away from it thankfully, but I’d like a better look at it.”

She turned diligently, starting slightly as he placed his hands on her head and parted the hair there. She winced a bit as he prodded around where the cut was and he pulled his hands away.

“Right, this is a bit awkward but… the easiest way for me to get at your head is… well your face needs to be--well it needs to be in between my knees.” His entire face turned bright red as he finished the sentence and she raised an eyebrow.

“Normally I don’t get on my knees for men this early,” Theo quipped, and stood slowly, holding her hand out to him to steady herself. He took it and helped her kneel in front of him, opening his knees a bit. She rested her face in between them and sighed.

“If this gets unbearable, or you feel as if you might faint, tell me immediately,” John said firmly.

She made a noise of assent. 

John went to work on the angry cut at the nape of her neck. He was gratified to see that he was right in assuming that he wouldn’t have to cut any of her hair, and found himself thankful at that realisation as he stared down at the bright red locks. He toyed with it briefly before shaking his head and setting to work. As he cleaned it, and could feel her hand clench around one of his calves, he smiled briefly, knowing she was probably trying her hardest not to cry out. Once it was clean, he was able to get a good look at it and he realised in dismay that she  _ would _ need a few stitches. He cringed; a soldier in the field? No problem. A young woman fresh from a recent trauma, soaked to the bone from London rain? Not likely an easy feat.

He lessened the pressure on either side of her head and pulled her up, clasping her shoulders. She tried to smile lightly but he could see a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“Was that it?”

“Er… not exactly. I’ve cleaned it, good job handing the antiseptic, but to completely stop the bleeding I’m… well, I’ll have to  _ stitch _ you up. I completely understand if you’d rather go to hospital for it, but I promise I’m rather good at this sort of thing, got a degree in it and everything.”

To his surprise, she sighed loudly and put her head back between his knees.

“Okay, let’s get it over with.” Her voice was a bit muffled.

“Erm… you don’t want… something to bite, or…?” he trailed off, looking bewildered.

“Nah, so long as you don’t mind me squeezing the shit out of your legs and maybe a bit of noise, I’m fine. I’m a dancer, remember?” she chuckled. “Now, hurry up, this  _ is _ a head wound.”

John leaned forward and quickly assembled a needle and some surgical thread, and after inhaling deeply, dug the needle into her scalp. She hissed and clutched both of his calves this time, almost hard enough that it would have been distracting if he wasn’t expecting it. Less than a minute later, he was done. He gently pulled her up and guided her back to the couch, lying her down on her side. If her face had been clammy before, it was as white as a sheet, now.

“Th-Thanks,” she managed to stammer out.

And then, to no surprise from John, she fainted, and he had to stop her from rolling forward off the couch.

He sighed heavily. 

“Sherlock!” he yelled. “I have a situation!”


	2. Doctor Watson, I presume.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which some questionable medical decisions are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess all my chapters are just gonna end with John and Sherlock shouting for one another?

“I don’t care if she’s fainted, she can sleep on the couch!” came the loud reply.

John patted her cheeks lightly and her eyes fluttered open. She smiled wanly at him, her eyes unfocused. 

“Hello again,” she said quietly. “Did I do okay?”

“Yes, Theo, you did wonderfully,” John said, his bedside manner firmly in place. “D’you think you can stand? Because I--” he swore under his breath as her eyes drifted shut drowsily. He gave her one last shake but she furrowed her brow and was largely unresponsive.

“Sherlock! Get your arse down here!” he thundered, standing up and striding over to their hallway. He wanted to keep an eye on her--make sure she was all right for the night--so he intended to move her into his bedroom where there was a particularly squishy reading chair in the corner he could doze in. He sighed in relief as he heard the sound of Sherlock’s steps thumping into the living room.

He stopped in the doorway to the living room, his robe open, revealing his stripey pyjamas which were barely buttoned up. He was still holding John’s laptop and didn’t even bother to look up.

“I suppose you want help carrying her to your room? You know, you shouldn’t sleep in that chair, it’s highly unlikely she’ll suffer anything more than a bad headache tomorrow, you don’t need to be so noble about your Hippocratic oath.”

“I’m--You don’t--Just come help you overgrown pelican,” John snapped at him. “You know I can’t lift her with my shoulder.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and appeared to type a few more things on the laptop before shutting it and setting it down precariously on the desk. He nudged John out of the way and gathered Theo into his arms, beginning to walk toward John’s bedroom with him following closely behind. 

“Her hair’s quite bright, isn’t it? D’you think it’s natural? I didn’t think Mrs. Hudson had any gingers in her family.”

Sherlock sniffed. “No, it is, and she’s got her father’s colouring, not her mother’s, obviously.”

Theo mumbled something and curled her fingers around Sherlock’s shirt buttons. She pressed her cheek to his chest and he was surprised to feel a sudden dampness. He looked down and could see she was weeping silently, though still very much asleep. 

“Oh!” he said sharply, pulling a face, and stopped just outside the threshold of John’s bedroom. 

“What? What’s wrong? Is she bleeding again--oh.” 

Delicately, Sherlock placed her on the bed and stepped back, letting John rush in to fill the vacuum of space he’d left. Theo appeared to be whimpering slightly, and he cocked his head to one side as he observed the two of them. She appeared to be having some sort of night terror--something John would no doubt recognise immediately--and he was about to try and deduce what they were about when John did something that stopped his heart momentarily in his chest. 

Theo had rolled onto her side and her eyes were squeezed shut, so tight she almost looked like she was in pain. And John… John reached out and gently brushed her hair away from her face and he could see his lips moving, mumbling something no doubt reassuring and absolutely human.

As he kept murmuring (what was he saying?) Sherlock watched in awe as she stilled, and eventually, her breathing returned to normal. He watched as John smiled lightly to himself and then looked up at Sherlock, who quickly rearranged his expression to that of pure apathy.

“If you’re both settled, then,” he drawled, and then turned and stalked out of the room. 

John turned to look back at Theo, and leaned over her quietly, visually confirming that there was no blood coming out of her wound anymore and that her stitches were holding, before pulling the blanket up over her and moving the arm chair to closer to the head of the bed, where he then promptly sat down and shut his eyes, falling asleep immediately.

-

That morning, Theo woke up and grimaced as she turned her head, the cut at the back of her head smarting. She sat up slowly, reaching back and noting with satisfaction that she was no longer bleeding, and then turned to look at the chair beside her.

John had clearly fallen asleep sitting up many times before, as he was nestled quite comfortably in the patterned blue armchair and snoring softly. Her brain tried desperately to piece together the last twenty-four hours--her mother finding photos on her boyfriend’s phone, throwing everything within reach at her until she managed to duck out of her mother’s room and run down the stairs, managing only to grab the bag she’d packed for work that night as she left the overly large house in Toronto and jumped into her car. She’d been shocked her mother had let her leave the country with their jet, but really, she was never going to completely cut her off. 

When she’d landed in London, she’d only been vaguely aware that she’d been coming to see her grandmother--the one she had only small memories of from childhoods in London, before her mother had struck gold and turned into something no one in her family recognised or wanted to be around. She had an email from her grandmother, addressed specifically to her, telling her she was always welcome and that she knew she wasn’t her mother, and she’d said that address to the cab driver at the airport, praying she hadn’t moved in two years.

As she was getting her thoughts in order, she saw John beginning to stir, and she smiled a bit and laid back down, closing her eyes and feigning sleep, guessing (and right in her guess) that he would feel upset if he’d known she’d woken up before him so he could check on her. 

John shifted and opened his eyes slowly, registering that he was staring at his very comfortable bed and not in it, like he’d planned to be last night, and then remembering that there was a tall redheaded woman in it instead, who happened to have a head wound. He stood up and stretched, his body protesting at the cramped and very minimal amount of sleep he’d had, and bent over to peer at Theo, relieved she hadn’t woken before him.

Her eyes fluttered open and he was greeted with a warm smile; he was taken aback at how immediately trusting she was of him, but she supposed she didn’t have many options in her situation, even if her mum was ‘rolling in it’ as she’d said. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said groggily, moving to sit up. He quickly reached over and helped her get to a seated position, and then sat down on the edge of the bed next to her.

“‘Mornin’, can I look at your head?”

She chuckled and turned her head slightly. “Right into it, eh? Has anyone ever told you you’re horrible at foreplay?”

He turned beet red and cleared his throat. “No, they have not.”

They were both silent as he poked and prodded at her, but he was satisfied to see that it didn’t look like it would cause any further problems. 

“Sorry for fainting last night, by the way. I have really low blood pressure at the best of times and I guess--”

“It was completely understandable based on the chain of events that happened, Theo. But I want to ask based on the head wound… do you er… normally have night terrors?”

She turned back to face him and sighed, biting her lip and looking decidedly past him at the wall. 

“Yes, I’ve had them for years. It has nothing to do with my head injury.”

He nodded and cleared his throat. “Well that’s good, no traumatic repercussions from this, then. But you really should rest some more. D’you feel up to walking down to your own flat?

Theo smiled and nodded, and John got up and held out his hands so he could pull her up. She stood unsteadily and leaned against him as they left his room, her head swimming. She hadn’t realised how much it was pounding until she’d stood and was secretly thankful that John was next to her, holding her up. As they made their way down the stairs, she let herself sink into him a bit more, and he surprised her by circling an arm around her waist and placing hers around his shoulder.

“S’just a bit easier this way, if you don’t mind,” he said sheepishly. 

She shrugged half-heartedly and then attempted a feeble hip bump. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your boyfriend that you’ve got your arm around my shoulders.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and John sighed in exasperation. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Is that you, John?” Mrs. Hudson called out from her flat; the door was wide open and they could see her bustling around in the kitchen. She came out into the hallway. “Oh, Theodora, dear, let’s get you into your bed and some nice jimjams.”

Theo nodded sleepily, suddenly overcome with the idea of her grandmother being there and the tenderness she could hear in her voice, and felt tears rush to her eyes again. 

Mrs. Hudson opened the door to 221C and herded both Theo and John into the apartment, tutting and fretting with every word and noise she made, until they reached the bedroom, which had been newly made up with bedsheets and some extra fluffy-looking pillows. John gently set her down on the bed and she flopped backwards, closing her eyes.

“Love, have you brought any pyjamas?” Mrs Hudson asked, rifling through the large bag she’d carried in with her when she’d arrived last night. 

Theo shook her head slightly. “Didn’t have time. It’s okay, I’ll buy some tomorrow, I’ll just stay in my clothes right now.”

Mrs. Hudson looked up helplessly at John and he frowned.

“I bet I can find something for you, hang on.” 

He ducked out of the flat and took the stairs two at a time up to his. As he walked by Sherlock’s room, he noticed that the detective was still completely passed out on top of his duvet, the lack of sleep over the last two weeks finally having caught up with him. He went into his own room and pulled open the top drawer, rummaging through it until he came up with a soft, overly large t-shirt that his sister had given to him last year when she was cleaning out some things that had been left over from a thrift sale. He also grabbed a pair of pyjama pants that he never wore and rushed back downstairs, where he could hear Mrs Hudson trying to coax Theo to sit back up again.

“Right, got something for you to sleep in for the time being, I think.” He re-entered the room, and then tossed them on the foot of the bed. 

In one step, he strode over to Theo and bent over her, placing one of his hands across the front of her shoulders and the other mimicking the line of her spine as he lifted her to a sitting position. She whined tiredly and leaned against him, refusing to hold her own body weight. 

“C’mon, Theo. Just a quick couple of minutes and you can be snuggled back up in bed, again. I promise you’ll feel loads better after this sleep, and I’ll come check on you when you wake up.”

She groaned and struggled to open her eyes, but finally did and sat up, looking over at her grandmother with a pitiful look on her face.

“Right, I’ll just… leave you to change, then. Call me if you need anything, all right?” He slowly backed out of the room, and tiredly walked back upstairs to start making a cup of tea.

As it turned out, both Theo and Sherlock slept the whole day and the next night, Theo only waking briefly for some weak tea and a quick once-over by John. 

John fell tiredly into his own bed that night and slept soundly, not waking once, until a loud yell from Sherlock downstairs roused him the next morning.

“JOHN! COME HERE IMMEDIATELY!”


	3. hands up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what, you don't point guns at people making you breakfast?

John was out of his bed and had his revolver in his hand before he even opened his eyes as he rushed into the kitchen, gun pointed in front of him.

“Woa! Not a fan of pancakes, I get it!” Theo yelled, turning and putting both her hands up, a spatula in one.

John lowered his gun and rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Sherlock, why would you yell like that about Theo?”

Sherlock looked at her sourly and sniffed the air. “There was a strange woman cooking in our kitchen, and I wanted to know if you’d invited her to do that.”

John sat down at the island and rolled his eyes, looking over to where Theo was happily flipping pancakes in a pan and humming to herself.

“There’s a pot of tea on the counter, by the way. I’ve been told my tea-making skills are passable, but I’m more of a coffee drinker myself so keep that in mind.” She pointed at the blue teapot that was clearly nicked from Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen downstairs and John exclaimed appreciatively as he walked over to it and poured himself a mug. 

He cast another sidelong glance at Theo and started as he realised she was only wearing the t-shirt he’d given her, which mercifully went down to just above her knees. Her hair was damp and wavy from a shower, and she seemed like a completely different person than the woman he’d seen just two days ago. 

He looked back at Sherlock as he resumed his seat, amused to see that the detective was looking entirely affronted by the way this had played out, before huffing angrily and going to sit in his armchair to no doubt brood. 

“I just wanted to thank you two for being so open to having me in your apartment the last two nights. And you know, for making sure I didn’t bleed out in my poor grandmother’s spare room,” Theo said, placing a plate in front of John filled with food. “Let me get you some cutlery.”

She turned to look at the kitchen and stared at the complete disarray in front of her, before turning a questioning look back to him.

“Drawer in the bottom right corner near the stove. Yes, I know that's an odd place for them.”

Once she’d given him his fork, she hopped up on the island next to him and sipped at her tea, staring into space as she swung her legs idly back and forth. John had to concentrate quite hard to avoid looking at her thighs as he ate, which were just inches from his plate. He could see faint bruises lining them and he had to force himself not to imagine how she’d got them.

“Eyes up here, soldier,” she said quietly, and John choked as he looked up and saw her watching him with a completely amused expression. 

“Sorry,” he said quickly, turning his attention back to his plate.

“No, it’s fine, I just didn’t want you to accidentally take a bite out of my thighs instead of your breakfast, is all,” she replied, and then hopped off the counter in a graceful motion, going over and placing her empty mug in the sink. “Not until you were finished eating it, that is.”

John flushed and chose to ignore that last part, finishing eating and getting up perhaps rather over-eagerly. “Right, I need to take a look at your head, if you don’t mind, and maybe just a quick check-up?”

She cocked her head to one side and shrugged. “You’re the doctor, you tell me what you think.”

“Let me just go get your kit and wash my hands, go sit on the sofa again.”

Theo walked into the living room, sitting gingerly on the couch, very keenly aware that she was directly in Sherlock’s line of brooding. 

“You don’t have to be like that around him, you know. He’s not really one to not help anyone, let alone a woman he finds attractive,” Sherlock said finally.

“Pardon?” Theo asked, turning to look at him and crossing her long legs.

“The whole flirty, damsel-in-distress bit--John would help you regardless, so you don’t need to dangle the carrot of sex in front of him to get him to help you.”

Theo bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m not trying to seduce him, you know. He just… He’s so easy to fluster, it’s sort of… refreshing.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement and turned to look at the fireplace, staring at the long dead ashes, his eyes glazed over as he completely tuned out the world around him. Theo took this as a dismissal, and used this opportunity to look at the living room around her, glancing at the mantelpiece with keen eyes.

“Ugh, God, the safe behind the fireplace mantle is so disappointing,” she said after a moment, and Sherlock’s eyes snapped back to her.

“What makes you think I have anything of importance in there?”

“I don’t think it’s valuable, but I bet it’s where you keep the puzzles you haven’t been able to solve. You’ve been staring at the same brick for far too long for it not to be one of importance, and I know that you just finished a case, so you’re probably considering the ones you haven’t been able to do the same for.” She looked over at him and cocked her head to one side. “You don’t seem like the type to enjoy an idle mind, I’d wager every second not spent trying to analyse things feels like utter torture to you.”

Sherlock cracked a rare, close-lipped smile at her. “And here I was thinking Mrs. Hudson’s family was completely devoid of any brain cells.”

John re-entered the room, gloves on and carried his medical kit in front of him. He placed it on the coffee table and sat down next to Theo. 

“Okay, turn for me please,” he said, his tone formal. 

She obliged, sweeping her hair over her shoulder and ducking her head down. He shifted a bit closer to her until she could feel the heat from his body as he lifted her hair up. 

“I’m just going to clean it a bit more, if that’s all right. Let me know if it hurts.”

She shivered as he pressed a wet towelette to her neck and tried her best not to wince at it. He was done quickly, and he touched her shoulder lightly to get her to turn back to him.

“Okay, I just want to check your blood pressure and a few other things, if that’s all right with you? You said you had low blood pressure already but I just want to be sure it’s not too low in light of everything.”

While he was talking, he brought out his blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around her arm, placing the arm itself in front of her and holding it so her hand was resting upright on his knee. He then grabbed his stethoscope and placed it around his neck. 

“Okay, just try and relax,” he said calmly. Over the next few minutes he busied himself with the cuff and the stethoscope, until he was satisfied with the reading he seemed to have got.

“Tip-top shape? Ready for another daring escape via jet plane, I’m assuming?” Theo asked cheekily as he put everything away.

“Well, you’re right, your blood pressure is quite low, but if that’s something you naturally have then I’ll have to assume you’re doing fine. Just maybe avoid any physical exertion for the next week or so and I’ll be happy.”

“I dunno that that will make you happy,” she teased, and she heard Sherlock scoff loudly to her right, but she couldn’t help herself, it was just so easy to make the colour rise to John’s face.

“No, it will make me happy. You’re technically one of my patients at the moment and it will make me happy to see you make a full recovery.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. No dancing, no shouting, no sex, no fun. I got it.” She stood up and stretched lazily. “But once I’m all better, you boys better watch out, because I’ll be ready to do everything I just listed.”

She winked at John and disappeared without even a second look back at them, presumably headed back down the stairs to her own flat. John was left gaping after her, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“John, really, you are far too easy to fluster. You’d think a man who’d been a soldier and a doctor would be harder to unsettle.”

“Well, yeah, but she’s not a bloody enemy soldier with a gun in my face, is she?” John said sullenly, “and there is no UKCAT question about being lazily seduced by your landlord’s granddaughter, unfortunately.”


	4. Just what the doctor texted

Over the next two nights, John barely saw any of Theo, but he heard Mrs Hudson and her chatting amiably to one another sometimes when he was coming or going to a shift at work. Sherlock was still pouting in their flat, nothing interesting having come up, but John tended to cherish the nights when they could just quietly sit in their chairs, drinking tea. 

One night at work, he received a text message from a number he didn’t recognise.

_ Hello, I’m dying for a cup of tea and my grandmother is out, any chance you’re upstairs? I don’t want to disturb the overgrown bat. I’m still not feeling one hundred percent, if I’m being honest, or I’d stand in my own kitchen and make it. _

He let out a laugh at that and sat down at his desk.

_ Unfortunately, no. But go on up, anyway. I promise Sherlock won’t bite you. In fact, he might not even notice you’re there. _

He could imagine her rolling her eyes at this text and he swapped over to his conversation with Sherlock.

_ Theo’s coming up to make herself a cuppa, she’s worried she might pass out again, please make sure she doesn’t. _

It was only moments after he’d pressed send that he received a reply.

_ She won’t pass out, she’s hardly as fragile as she’s leading you to believe. Her kitchen is perfectly adequate and I’m able to hear the thump from her body from up here just fine. SH. _

John rolled his eyes.

_ You will let her make tea in our kitchen, and that’s final. _

He received no response after that, and he assumed Sherlock had given up the argument out of boredom.

_ I’m headed up, then. If you find my body when you get home, don’t say I didn’t warn you. _

-

Theo hovered cautiously in the doorway to John’s apartment, poking her head in and trying to see if she could spot Sherlock.

“Oh just come in, already. John told me you’d be here,” a voice rang out from the living room, and she stepped in tentatively, spotting him on the sofa at the back end of the living room, lazily smoking a cigarette as he reclined on the couch.

She pulled the sleeves of her newly purchased pyjamas down and nodded at him. “Sorry to bother you, I’ll be out before you know it, I just…”

“Yes, I know, make me one too, please.”

She busied herself in the kitchen and emerged ten minutes later with two steaming mugs, placing one on the table in front of him, her eyes lingering on the cigarette hungrily.

She sat down in John’s armchair and sighed, sinking into it and staring out the window into the dark London night, lit only by a dim street lamp just outside.

Sherlock cocked his head to one side as he studied her. She was just twenty-six, carried weight in her childhood but lost it when she discovered dance as a teenager. Probably had a history of depression, judging by the scars along her wrists and thighs. He could tell she was a graceful dancer by the way she moved, even when she’d settled into the chair, and he also could tell that two months ago she’d twisted her ankle judging by how much she was favouring it.

He looked at her fingers as she lifted the steaming mug to her mouth and took a sip: ah, an artist as well.

_ Probably a degree in Art History _ , he thought disdainfully. He watched as her eyes slowly moved around the apartment, determinedly avoiding him on the couch in the corner, and they lit up as they landed on his violin, her fingers giving a small, near imperceptible twitch. 

“Do you play?” she asked, breaking the silence and turning her head to meet his thoughtful gaze.

He nodded. “How long have you played?”

“Since I was seven. Mine is--I forgot to bring it with me,” she said sadly

“You didn’t, but I’ll let you lie for right now until I’ve fully unravelled your story.”

She glared at him. “Why do you want to know so much about me? You already know the worst bit, I’m sure you’ve ‘deduced’ what my newest stepfather was up to, and probably even how I twisted my ankle.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I want to know because John appears to care for your wellbeing--he cares for everyone’s, really, always picking up wounded people on the street like they’re stray animals--so I might as well learn more to help.”

“And why not just  _ ask _ ?”

“How tedious. How did he break your violin?” Sherlock sat up, taking another long puff of his cigarette and ashing it in a potted plant near the couch.

Theo winced and looked away from him, raising her mug back up to her lips. “He threw it in the fireplace,” she murmured, before taking another sip.

He raised an eyebrow and stood. “And I’m assuming it was your dead father’s violin.”

“Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

Sherlock scoffed and walked over to the fireplace, staring into it as he felt his mind get lost in thought. A few more minutes passed before he heard Theo shift in the chair and place her mug down on the coffee table. He turned slightly to look at her from the corner of his eye, and saw how uncomfortable she was, watching as she pulled her sleeves down and wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them up onto the chair.

He sighed and reached for his violin, placing it swiftly on his shoulder and nestling his chin into the rest.

“Oh, d’you want me to go--?” Theo asked, standing quickly, but wobbling a bit as she did so and grabbing the side of the arm chair. 

“Don’t be stupid, I couldn’t care less if you stayed here while I play, and it would no doubt make John feel better if you did. Go lie down on the other couch.” He gestured with the bow in his other hand at the couch on the far wall and watched as she wobbled her way over to it. He rolled his eyes and picked up a blanket on the loveseat, tossing it to her, and she draped it gratefully over her body, laying down on her side and closing her eyes tentatively. 

Sherlock turned away and began to softly play his violin, not noticing that Theo’s eyes had begun to well up behind him, remembering the last time someone had played her to sleep.

“I can assure you, I’m a much better player than your father,” rumbled Sherlock’s deep baritone, and she huffed, turning her back decidedly on him.

An hour later, John ascended the stairs, utterly exhausted, and nearly dropped his bag when he walked into the flat. Sherlock was winding away on his violin, still, playing some sweet, mournful lullaby he’d never heard before. He glanced over to the other side of the apartment and there was Theo, fast asleep on their couch, a second blanket draped lightly over the one she had wrapped around herself.

Sherlock finished the tune and turned to look at John, looking slightly sheepish.

“She didn’t mind…” he trailed off, putting his violin down. 

John looked at him fondly, and it made Sherlock’s heart ache. “Brilliant, Sherlock. Has she eaten?”

He blinked. “How should I know?”

John massaged his jaw thoughtfully. “I’ll bet Mrs Hudson made her something earlier.”

Theo moaned and turned over again so she was facing them, her eyebrows knit together as if lost deep in thought, her eyes still firmly closed. Her lips were parted slightly, as if in surprise.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, another night terror.”

As if on his cue, Theo let out a sob in her sleep, and then started to thrash about, kicking at something in front of her. 

“Woa, woa, woa, WOA!” John exclaimed, rushing forward and catching her head right as she rolled off the couch. She woke with a start.

“Wha--” She pushed John away from her so quickly that he actually fell backwards, and jumped to her feet, hugging her body, her eyes darting around the room. Sherlock could only guess what she’d been dreaming about, but his guesses were often right, and he set his mouth in a grim line.

John stood up slowly, holding his hands out to her like she was a wounded animal. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. Her eyes finally settled on him and they softened, all the tension leaving her body in one go. 

“Yeah, I am. Yeah, yes.” She laughed nervously. “I must’ve--well, anyway. God! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep up here. I should get back to my apartment--” she babbled, staring for the door. 

John gently laid his hand on her arm and she snatched it away. “Theo, wait, you can’t leave while you’re this worked up.”

“I’m fine, honestly. I’m fine,” she said unconvincingly. John smiled sadly at her and then nodded.

“Okay, I’ll come check on you in a bit, all right? Have you eaten anything?” he asked gently, stepping a bit toward her. 

As Sherlock watched this exchange, he was surprised to find he was uncomfortable at the intimacy in the way John was looking at her, and the way she was returning his gaze just as desperately made him want to shove her out the door and slam it shut. He turned abruptly away from them both and busied himself with putting away his violin.

“No, I haven’t.”

“I’ll come and make something in a moment, right?” He smiled. “Go on, then.”

Theo bit her lip and disappeared from their flat; John let out a massive sigh and rubbed his forehead.

“You have no clue what you’re getting yourself into, John.”

“Beg your pardon?” He asked, turning to look at Sherlock, who had finished putting away his violin and was now staring at John in exasperation.

“Don’t be daft, you heard me.”

“I know, I did. But why would you say that?” He narrowed his eyes and took a step toward the other man. “What do you know?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stalked over to the hallway entrance. “Only things I’ve deduced, and you’ve made it quite clear how much you don’t like hearing about those things unless they pertain to a case.”

John sighed. “If this is about the scars on her legs and arms, I’ve already seen them, and they’re heaps old,” he said as she turned and walked toward the kitchen, intent on rustling up an old tin of soup or something he could bring to Theo. “Besides, it doesn’t make a difference.”

Sherlock scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes. “Not for anything, but that’s not what I was referring to--Oh, good night, why do I even bother,” he muttered as he turned and disappeared toward his bedroom.


	5. aren't you tired, Mr. Holmes?

Time passed and Theo was given the clean bill of health by John, despite Sherlock grumbling that she should probably find an  _ actual _ family doctor and not just rely on her flatmate--it took John telling him he  _ happened _ to be an actual doctor and if he felt that way then Sherlock could find one too to get him to shut up.

John had snuck into the kitchen for a quick midnight snack after work (he feared Sherlock might have fallen asleep on the couch again), and was surprised to find someone in there already, fumbling around in the dark.

He flicked on the light and Theo nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Holy hell! You scared the shit out of me!” 

“I could say the same for me, you know you’ve got your own kitchen, right?” he asked, moving past her to open the fridge, his tone clearly teasing.

“Mmm, but then where would I find the cookies that have been stored inexplicably next to the dried eyeballs?”

John took out a jar of pickles and opened it, chuckling. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he starts storing things in your flat now that it’s open to us.”

Theo laughed and took a nibble of her digestive biscuit. “Fair play. He doesn’t sleep much in his room, does he?” she asked, leaning against the counter as John walked around her and set the kettle on the stove full of water. He set down the pickle jar and turned to look where she had gestured and sighed fondly.

Sherlock was sprawled out on the couch, his usually tamed curls plastered to the side of his head and his mouth slightly askew where a small bit of drool was puddling. John didn’t blame him, it had been about three solid days since they’d first taken the case and he’d solved it just this morning.

“Nah, sometimes I think he just forgets he has one.” He turned back toward her and cleared his throat, looking pointedly away from her legs, where she’d rolled Sherlock’s pyjamas up to her mid thigh; they were inches away from his arms as he pulled down a mug from the cupboard.

“So why are  _ you _ awake right now?” She playfully poked his shoulder. 

John thought back to the exhausting day he’d had at work, and how even when he closed his eyes he could feel his anxiety building, and shrugged.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, you’re just like my mom--horrible liar.”

“Well, to be fair, I wouldn’t be here if I  _ could _ sleep.” 

She laughed and leaned back against the cupboard behind her, kicking her legs absent-mindedly as John picked up the tea kettle before it started to whistle. “You got me. Well, if you ever want something  _ else _ to do other than make tea when you can’t sleep…”

John’s neck and ears turned red and he looked down, trying to concentrate on pouring the boiling water over the tea bags, but his eyes strayed over to her legs again, and he managed to pour it straight onto the counter that Theo was sitting on.

With a yelp, she jumped off, pulling the damp part of her pyjama pants away from her thigh, swearing loudly.

“Oh, sorry! I’m so sorry! Hang on--” he reached over and grabbed a hand towel and thrust it under some cold tap water, ringing it out and then thrusting it into her hands. “Put this on there, quick.”

It took him a few moments before he realised that Theo was laughing, and she chucked the rag into the sink and put her hands on his shoulders to steady him.

“John, I’m fine. It’s fine. God, you’re so  _ caring _ it’s actually fucking ridiculous!” 

“I’m--well, I  _ am _ a doctor,” he said lamely, staring into her blue eyes. He watched as she smiled, leaning forward.

“Did I ever tell you I have a thing for doctors?” she whispered in front of his lips, and then kissed him. 

John let his hands rest on the small of her back, turning his body slightly so he was leaning back against the counter, and she melted against him. He let out a small happy hum as he felt her tongue poke at his lips--

“If you two are going to do this, could you  _ please _ turn the light off and  _ shut up _ ?” 

They both jumped and pulled apart to turn and look at a nonplussed Sherlock standing in the entrance to the kitchen. 

Theo rolled her eyes and grinned at the both of them. “Nah, I think you rather enjoy the show. But it’s time for bed, I think. You too, Sherlock.” She leaned forward and chastely kissed John’s cheek, who hardly had time to react as she disappeared out of their flat and went silently down the stairs. 

John’s whole body was still frozen and he could feel his cheeks burning as he looked after her, wondering if he should just follow her downstairs. He could feel Sherlock’s disapproving eyes on him, however, as if the man was reading his mind and could hear his exact intentions. For whatever reason, he hated that Sherlock had caught the both of them--in fact, he felt rather embarrassed about it. 

He cleared his throat. “Right, well, I should be off to bed, too, then.” 

Sherlock sleepily scratched his stomach and frowned. “Weren’t you making tea?” He seemed more relaxed once he heard Theo’s door click shut downstairs, and was gazing at John in a rare moment of tired vulnerability.

John smiled back at him and sighed. “I was, did you want one, too?”

\--

The next day, John knocked on Theo’s door. As she opened it, he opened his mouth to greet her but stopped as he looked her up and down. She was clad in leggings and a sports bra, a sweater loosely tied around her waist. 

“Oh! Hi! Listen, I’d love to chat, but I’m just on my way out for a dance call--there’s a club looking for dancers just ten minutes from here!” As she talked, she tied her long hair up in a pony tail and reached behind her to grab a rather large gym bag. 

“A… club? Like a strip club?” John stammered.

She grinned. “Nah, I don’t do that anymore. This is burlesque. Much more fun, but  _ way _ less tips.” 

John flushed, images flashing through his mind too quickly for him to even settle on one, and he cleared his throat. 

“Okay, well, when are you going to be back?”

She looked down at her phone as she shut her door behind her. “Mmm, probably in three or so hours? ‘Round five o’clock?”

“Right, well, I was wondering if you’d like--I mean, you don’t have to but I--”

“Let’s say six-thirty right here so I have time to get ready? You can pick, but I’m really craving pasta right now. It’s a date.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then dashed out of the building before he could even react again.

“Right, it’s a date,” John said, looking dazedly after the door, wondering when he’d got a second human who made a habit of disappearing into thin air in his life. 


	6. what else can I say?

“John, there’s been a reappearance of that Polish smuggling ring that Lestrade was tracking last year. I know you’re partial to the pierogies in that restaurant two streets down, and I know you’re always trying to force me to nourish myself. I can stomach the thought of one or two if we’re there under work pretences, but I won’t make any promises. I told Lestrade we’d go there at about six-thirty, can I borrow one of your drab, oatmeal sweaters?”

Sherlock said this as he stared out the front window as John entered the apartment. He went and sat down heavily in his armchair and picked up the paper he’d abandoned earlier when he’d heard Mrs. Hudson leave to do her morning shop. 

“Mm? Hey, my sweaters aren’t ‘drab’!” He looked up indignation.

Sherlock didn’t even bother to turn around. “Well, no, not on  _ you _ , but with my colouring it doesn’t work. I’ll blend in perfectly.”

John grinned and turned the page in his paper. “Sounds wonderful, when is this? Sometime this week?”

This got Sherlock to turn around and scoff. “You know, you’re always rattling on about how I don’t listen to anything you say and here you are, doing exactly that."

John put the paper down and gave him a placating smile. “I’m sorry, you’re right. What was that?”

“Tonight, I told Lestrade we’d go on a stakeout to gain more information about the Dabrowski smuggling ring, and I know Zuzanna is waiting to whine about how thin I’ve gotten since we’ve dined there last.”

Sherlock was feigning nonchalance, but John noticed a touch of apprehension in his body, and he shook his head briefly. 

“Oh, Sherlock, I can’t. I’ve told Theo we’d go to dinner--”

“That’s fine, just tell her not to talk when I am, or at all, really.” Sherlock came and sat down in his own armchair, facing John and giving him a placating smile. “I’m sure she’ll be just fine company for when you need to bore someone with the details of your most recent shift.”

John cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sherlock, really, can we go tomorrow night? Do we need to go tonight?”

There was a silence as Sherlock surveyed John through narrowed eyes, clearly deciding whether or not to press the issue. Finally, he sighed and stood up, returning to his spot at the window. John stared at the detective’s back for a while, far longer than he’d care to admit to anyone, admiring the broad shoulders in his black button-down, before he shook his head and picked up his paper again.

“We’ll go tomorrow, Sherlock,” he mumbled, and pretended not to notice as Sherlock stiffened and left the room without a word.

-

“Blimey,” John breathed out as Theo opened the door that evening in a thin-strapped deep green minidress. She grinned at him and reached over to her coat rack for a light spring coat, shrugging it on as she stepped out of her apartment and locked the door. 

“Ready?” she asked brightly.

“Not even close,” John replied, holding his arm out for her to take. She grasped it gratefully and turned to look over her shoulder at a noise, waving and smiling as she did. John turned, as well, and saw Mrs Hudson’s indulgent smile.

“Don’t keep her out too late, John,” Mrs Hudson teased, sipping at a tea cup as she stood in her own doorway. 

John blushed and chuckled. “Shouldn’t you be asking her not to do that, Mrs Hudson?”

Theo cackled and blew a kiss at her grandmother as she led John out the door. “You’re right, I’m the one that’s going to keep you up all night.”

“Theo!” Mrs Hudson’s shrill voice followed them out onto the street and John cast an apologetic glance over his shoulder as the door closed.

-

The dinner went by smoothly and soon the waiter was clearing their plates and bringing out a second bottle, shooting a sly glance between the two of them that was reserved only for waitstaff who know when a date is going well. John had been surprised at how much he enjoyed talking to Theo--not because he didn't find her interesting, but because she seemed to actually find _him_ interesting.

“Your friend, Sherlock…” Theo said after lull in the conversation. 

“What about him?”

“What’s his  _ deal _ ? I mean, it’s really cool, don’t get me wrong, but the things he guessed about me…” she hugged herself. 

“Observed.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t guess.”

“Right, my apologies. The things he  _ observed _ about me. Doesn’t that make you nervous? Living with him?”

John shrugged, folding his napkin into his plate. “No, I mean, I don’t have much I need to keep hidden, and he’s never been quite as ruthless with me in public as he is with others."

“Oh, c’mon. He’s not ruthless at all. I know for a fact he hasn’t told you anything about me.” She traced the top of her wine glass with her finger.

“How do you know that?”

Theo picked up her wine glass and stared down into it. 

“Because you’re kind. And honest. And if he’d told you, I think you would have asked me about it already,” she said quietly after a moment. 

She smiled into her wine glass as she took a sip and then set it down. “And, you two…?”

“Oh, no, come on, not you!” John sighed. “Really, I’m not attracted to men. What’s it gonna take for people to believe me?”

Theo slid her foot up his leg. “Well, I can think of a few things you could do…”


	7. boundaries? never heard of 'em.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here there be smut, you've been warned.

John sighed contentedly, just leaving a blissful long sleep, and rolled over in his bed, coming into contact with another warm body. Groggily and unbidden, his brain supplied an image of Sherlock, but as John’s eyes flew open he chased that image right out of his brain and shook his head.

Instead, in front of him was a still-sleeping Theo, who was very much not a gangly detective with dark curly hair. He grinned to himself as he remembered the night before, and reached out to pull her closer to him. She turned over toward him and buried her face in his neck, breathing in deeply. She was wearing one of John’s shirts to sleep in, and as she pressed her naked thighs against his, it didn’t take long until he felt his already present morning arousal grow. He kissed her forehead lightly, pulling her closer to him by wrapping his arms around her, and she tilted her head up slightly to kiss him back. 

They breathed into the kiss lazily, not in any rush to go anywhere, until finally Theo’s hands roamed onto his bare chest, lazily tracing his abdomen, moving close to the top of his boxers. He inhaled sharply, breaking their kiss, his eyes still closed, and she kissed the bottom of his jaw softly as her hand dipped lower and lower until she was grasping him through the thin, worn fabric. She opened her mouth and nipped lightly at his neck, grasping and rubbing at him lazily. Momentarily, she pulled away, and he groaned, his eyes fluttering open to look down, but she was just pulling his boxers down so she could touch him fully, and his head soon fell back against the pillow as he rolled on his back.

Theo pressed her body to the side of him and began to move her hand in earnest, kissing his shoulder, her eyes half open as she watched his chest rise and fall quicker, seeing the kinds of expressions that flitted across his face. 

“Christ, Theo,” he groaned, his hips bucking in rhythm with her hand. She shifted slightly so her mouth was right next to his ear, watching as his breathing became more and more erratic, feeling his body tense next to hers.

“You look so incredible right now, John. So fucking good,” she murmured in his ear breathily, and as expected the surprise at hearing her speak to him sent him over the edge.

“F-Fuck!” John yelled, finally reaching release, just as the door to his bedroom slammed open.

“John, are you nearly awake--” Sherlock had been mid sentence as he opened the door and stopped short. The three of them were frozen in a horrified tableau: John, panting, his semen coating his chest, now cold, Theo, mortified and burying her face into John’s shoulder, trying to exit this plane of existence through it, and Sherlock, wearing an expression somewhere between fury and curiosity.

Finally, John seemed to snap out of it, and he yanked the covers up over himself. “Sherlock! You can’t just bloody burst into my room whenever you want! Get out!”

As if John’s outburst snapped him out of his daze, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Oh all right. But I require your assistance with something  _ urgent _ .” He shut the door loudly as he left, and Theo chanced a look up at John, her face still burning with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry about that,” John breathed out, leaning down and kissing her forehead. “He’s never--I mean, he  _ knocks _ usually.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “You think he knew I was in here?”

“Most likely but--no, don’t you even start with that. Not at  _ all _ , Theo.”

“Fine,” she said cheekily, throwing the duvet off of both of them. “But you need to get up and get showered because your boyfriend is waiting for you downstairs--Eeep!” she squealed loudly as John pinned her back on the bed, one hand moving her thighs apart.

“Oh, I reckon he can wait a little bit longer.”

\--

After he’d finally sent Theo off to rehearsals (after repaying the favour, of course) and showered, John padded downstairs, rubbing his wet hair with a towel and shivering at the cooler morning breeze coming from the open window. He tossed the towel on the back of his armchair and made his way into the kitchen.

“Mornin’!” he said cheerily.

Sherlock was seated in his own chair, staring at John with narrowed eyes.

“I asked you to come downstairs an hour ago,” he rumbled. “I said it was urgent.”

John chuckled, setting the tea kettle on the burner and turning to face Sherlock. “Ah, but it wasn’t, really. You’d have told me in front of Theo if it was.”

Sherlock merely continued staring at John, the only visible change in his face being a slight wrinkle between his brows.

“Honestly, Sherlock, if you’re  _ that _ interested in sex--” John began teasingly.

“While I do find your imbecile taunts amusing, are you quite finished? I have something pertinent to tell you,” Sherlock snapped, his hands moving quickly from their place in his lap to the arms of the chair as his posture straightened even more.

John poured the water over his tea bag, dunked it in a few times, and then poured his milk over it before coming to settle into his arm chair. Once he was settled, he looked attentively at Sherlock.

“I have absolutely nothing against Theo and I would like you to understand that. John, I need to know, has she told you any of the reasons she left her mother’s house?”

“Oh, bloody hell, Sherlock!” John leaned back in his chair, his patience with Sherlock evaporating instantly. “I know she used to slice herself up, I know she was depressed, why does  _ any _ of that matter?”

Sherlock pursed his lips. “In light of other things that she has not told you yet, I’m telling you that she is  _ certainly _ not stable enough to begin a relationship with, and I’m advising you to--”

John stood up abruptly, turning to leave before turning back to look at Sherlock, a number of emotions running on his face--shock, disbelief, mirth--before he settled on fury.

“Who are you to play therapist with her? I thought things like that were ‘beneath’ you? Oh fucking hell, you had Mycroft research her, didn’t you?”

Sherlock at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Be that as it may--”

“No! No, Sherlock! Not this time! Be  _ nothing _ as it may, whatever her and I have between each other, she is our new flatmate and you  _ will _ treat her with respect!” John yelled. 

The air in the room vibrated slightly around them after he had finished, and they stared at one another before Sherlock gave a slight nod. John exhaled slowly after another minute or so and sank back into his chair, eventually picking up his cup of tea and sipping at it, and reaching out to take the morning paper as Sherlock held it out to him.

“So, hear anything from Lestrade this morning?” 


	8. possessive isn't only a type of noun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, here's a second update in a row.

“John? John?” Theo whispered as she poked her head into the flat late one night. She’d had a nightmare and wanted to crawl into bed with him (she’d come home from work just a few hours before) but had found his bedroom empty. 

“He’s working a graveyard shift at St. Bart’s,” a low and predictable voice drawled. 

Theo jumped and turned to see Sherlock in his regular spot, stretched out on the other couch like a luxurious cat, smoking a cigarette (she was beginning to think he smoked there so John wouldn’t smell it on the other couch).

“Oh, yeah, he mentioned that earlier. I just… forgot,” she said absent-mindedly, eyeing his hands as he raised the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled.

“Another nightmare, I suppose? The cigarettes are hidden inside the skull on the mantle. I have the lighter.” 

She rushed over and gratefully extricated the pack, taking one out and carefully replacing the skull in its exact position on the mantle as behind her, Sherlock lazily stood and and walked over to her. She put the cigarette in her mouth and turned, letting him light it for her.

A small cry of pleasure flew out of her mouth and she inhaled deeply, her eyes closed, feeling the tension in her body slowly ebb away as the nicotine hit her blood.

Sherlock watched her through narrowed eyes. Her stage makeup had been sloppily wiped off, most likely in the shower as her hair was still damp. Her hands were shaking slightly, and he guessed exactly who’d made an appearance in her nighttime disturbance, wondering idly if Mycroft could find her step father for her and have him dealt with. 

“What are you staring at?” She raised an eyebrow, the smoke circling her head in a halo. 

Sherlock simply kept his gaze on her, surprised to find that she didn’t look away uncomfortably and instead stared right back at him.

“Your eyes really are stunning,” she said after a while. “John told me when we first met--he said my eyes reminded him of yours.”

Sherlock, for once, found himself at a loss for words momentarily.

“Well, our eyes do have similar colours--”

“No, no, that’s not what he meant.” She took a step toward him and he noticed her pupils dilate ever so slightly, and felt his own pulse quicken.

_ Oh, this is not right. Even if my body thinks it might be, it’s just because she brought up John. She even smells like him--is she using his body wash? Haven’t felt this since last week when John was drunk and asked to cuddle with me because Theo was at work. _

Sherlock backed up a few steps, and Theo smirked, not moving, taking another drag of her cigarette as she stared him down.

“What are your nightmares about, Theo?” Sherlock asked, his voice icy. 

She nearly dropped her cigarette in surprise and looked away from him; poor Theo, she was playing checkers, but Sherlock was playing chess.

“I--”

“They’re about him--actually, all of them, aren’t they? How they used to come into your room while you slept--”

“Shut. Up.” She inhaled her cigarette shakily. “You don’t understand anything of what you’re talking about.”

“Why haven’t you told John?” he asked, and couldn’t keep the note of curiosity out of his voice. 

“Told me what?” a voice from the doorway asked. John had appeared in the flat, and they both turned to look at him in alarm. 

“Christ, are you two  _ smoking _ ?” he exclaimed, looking angry. 

Theo guiltily crushed hers out in a discarded teacup and bit her lip.

“Where did you get them? I thought I’d confiscated all of them?” He turned to Sherlock.

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort something childish but Theo cut him off.

“They’re mine, and I’m not telling you where they are. I only had one tonight because I had a nightmare and you weren’t here. It’s my fault, I didn’t know Sherlock was quitting.”

Sherlock stared at her in open incredulity. Obviously, he could tell she was lying (slight eyebrow raise, eye contact with John’s forehead, over-exaggerated tremor in her voice to appeal to his protective side. He could probably learn something from her, though he guessed it might be something exclusive to women) but it softened John right up. Theo widened her eyes in an incredibly apologetic expression.

He sighed, and walked over to her, kissing her on her forehead. “All right. Get to bed, but brush your teeth, first!”

He smacked her bum lightly as she dashed down the stairs to her own flat, watching her fondly. Then John turned to face Sherlock.

“Right, where are they?”

“She just told you--”

“Oh, cut the bollocks, Sherlock. You think I haven’t lived with you long enough to tell when someone is lying? She was trying to cover for you, and while the sentiment is lovely, you know I do  _ not _ tolerate smoking!”

“John,  _ honestly. _ ”

“If you don’t give them to me, I’m going straight to Mycroft about it.”

Sherlocked sighed, stalking grumpily over to the mantle. “I hope the sex is worth it,” he mumbled mutinously.

\--

A fortnight later, Theo was coming home from work in the wee hours of the morning, but she was still too full of energy to sleep yet, and so she’d slipped John’s threadbare green robe on over her t-shirt and tiptoed out into the kitchen of 221B, not even flinching when she heard Sherlock’s voice from the living room as she busied herself with making a cup of tea.

“If that’s you, John, I’d like a cuppa as well.”

Sherlock appeared in the kitchen, wrapped in a quilt, his thin legs poking out from a pair of boxers and ending in some rather grubby looking socks. Theo laughed when she saw him, and he actually looked embarrassed for a millisecond, pulling the blanket around his bare chest and glaring at her.

“Well, at least now I know you don’t sleep in the nude.” She turned back to the stove as the kettle began to boil and poured it into her mug. 

“Will you make me one as well, please?” He asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Make your own! I’m not your maid.” She leaned against the counter and blew on the hot liquid.

Sherlock looked completely affronted and sniffed, then reached past her to grab the kettle and began to refill it.

“I’m sorry John took your cigarettes away, I guess I’m not as good of a liar as I thought.” 

He shrugged. “You are, in fact, good at lying. Unfortunately, John has an alcoholic sister and is quite intelligent himself.”

Theo shifted a bit as she brought her tea up to her mouth to take a sip; the front of the robe was swooping low across her collarbone and Sherlock tried his best not to stare at any of the exposed skin. The female body had always seems utterly pointless to him in terms of sexual attraction--he could understand its evolutionary purpose, but sexually, he might as well be staring at paint drying on a wall (no, something more boring, at least with paint he could deduce when it had been painted, what the exact shade was and what it had been before, and  _ why _ ). 

But with Theo’s… well, he could see John all over her. The swollen lips, the light red mark on her clavicle, the slight beard rash on her chin and neck and-- _ oh, on her thighs, oh God-- _

“Eyes up, soldier!” she laughed, having apparently watched his eyes wander over her body with amusement. 

Sherlock tore his gaze away from the fingerprint shaped marks on her left thigh. His mouth was suddenly dry and he looked back at the boiling kettle, taking it and pouring the water over his tea bag, seemingly in thought.

“You have…  _ him _ … all over you,” he said after a few minutes of silence, though he, himself, wasn’t even sure why he’d spoken.

“Are you jealous?” There was nothing snide or taunting in her tone, and she cocked her head to one side as she turned and gazed at him, seemingly interested in this turn of events.

“Jealousy is pointless; it’s an utter waste of time.”

“So you are.”

Sherlock let his eyes shift sideways again as she crossed one foot over the other, studying her through his peripheral. Finally, he turned to face her, his eyes roaming all over her body unapologetically, almost scientifically, trying to catalogue every place John had been, like a cartographer drawing a map. He took a step toward her and he watched as she sucked in a deep breath, clearly not sure where any of this was going.

He took the cup from out of her hands and set it down, hardly looking at it as he still stared at her, his gaze unwavering. Theo shivered, but resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself, instead peering back at him, waiting to see what he would do next.

He reached out slowly with his right hand and brushed over a small bruise in the hollow of her neck, tracing it with the back of his pointer finger, transfixed.

“How did he do this?”

Theo blinked, finding it hard to get words out, so utterly mesmerised at having Sherlock’s full attention wholly focused on her. She couldn’t quite describe it, but the air felt electric, and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t been shocked when he’d touched her bare skin.

She cleared her throat. “He… He did it with his mouth? He likes… to nip at skin when he’s…” she trailed off, finding herself blushing, but unable to look away.

Sherlock raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“When he’s inside me,” she whispered, her cheeks feeling as if they were on fire. 

He nodded and dropped his hand to the marks at the tops of her breasts, bringing his other hand up as he lightly traced them. 

“And these?”

She exhaled sharply. “The same--the same time.”

He lifted one hand up again and lightly rubbed just under her lips, marvelling at the swollen skin. “Is it painful? Kissing him with his beard?”

Theo’s eyes closed ever-so-slightly, and she shook her head slowly; the way Sherlock was touching her sore spots should have hurt but instead she couldn’t help but enjoy it. She opened her eyes again slowly and inhaled as she met his eyes, ever searching for the answer to a riddle she didn’t know he’d been told. The world seemed to elongate to a tunnel for her and the sounds around them became more muted and distant, the cars and sirens disappearing, the door opening and closing.

He let his hands drop even further, touching on the fingerprints on her thighs. “He likes a tight grip, I can see.”

Theo let her gaze follow his hands until he lightly brushed against the sore skin on her inner thigh, and she let her hand stop his. 

“Careful, now,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes again. “Don’t ask about things you’re not ready to hear.”

Sherlock, in return, chuckled; a low, rich baritone rumbling that made Theo far more turned on than she’d care to admit to anyone, and he turned his hand so he was holding hers, brushing the back of it against her own thigh, dipping ever so slightly under the robe she was wearing. 

“You think I wouldn’t guess he likes to do this? That he’s a giver? That he probably does this for so long his jaw aches and you’re clawing the bed to get away from him?” he murmured, his deep voice closer to her ear now than before, and she realised suddenly that they were millimeters apart, their bodies nearly pressed together.

A loud, long exhale behind at the entrance to the kitchen quietly broke their trance and they both turned their heads to see John standing there, silhouetted by the light behind him, a flush creeping up his neck. 

“John,” Theo said breathlessly, and made a motion to move but Sherlock slowly took both her wrists in his hands and held her there with no effort.

“Sherlock, wh… what are you--” John trailed off, his voice thick with desire.

Sherlock himself raised one of his hands up, turning Theo’s face back to his, again with little effort, and brushed a finger over her bottom lip, and she closed her eyes. He leaned forward and touched his lips ever so slightly to hers, his face turned and eyes opened to look at John, who had taken only one tentative step toward them.

A small, breathy sigh escaped Theo’s mouth and that was all it took to break the spell that had fallen over the three of them as John darted toward them and slammed Sherlock back against the wall, holding him by the collar.

“John--” Sherlock gasped, two light pink spots forming on his cheekbones as he could feel his full body pressed against the man, an obvious erection pressed into Sherlock’s leg as John breathed heavily and stared at him, his eyes darting down to his lips and over his face. 

Theo crept up behind him slowly and lightly tugged at his arm, pulling him away from Sherlock and whispering placating niceties in his ear. John let go of his shirt and backed away from him, his body relaxing slightly.

“Y-you--Christ, Sherlock,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. Theo was still behind him, whispering things into his ear, and he turned to face her suddenly.

“And  _ you _ ,” he growled, pulling her toward him, crushing their lips together, his hands gripping the back of her head, “you are  _ mine _ .”

_ (Ah, so that was it. It’s not surprising that John has a possessive streak, but that--) _

Before Sherlock had even finished his thought, the other two had already disappeared up to John’s bedroom.

He sighed and walked into the living room, looking around forlornly before striding over to his jacket on the coat stand, pulling it and his shoes on, and disappearing into the early hours of the cold London morning. 


End file.
